


Quite Contrary

by Chordewa



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 16:52:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7061194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chordewa/pseuds/Chordewa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Where did all her hate go? [DMC3, Mission 11.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quite Contrary

The demon leaves, bullet-peppered red jacket and the sound of his boots creaking on the stone fading away into darkness. She watches him go without really seeing him, gun dangling at her side. On the ground a few feet away, lying in a lake of his own blood, is the scum she called father. Her father is dead. He's dead, but she didn't kill him. What does she do now? It's impossible to think. When her mother was murdered, it had all been so clear. Her hatred had seared through every vein, leaving nothing but clarity and deadly purpose behind. She had to kill the monster her father had become. It's this purpose that's kept her going these past few years, transforming her body into an efficient demon-killing machine and stopping her mind from folding in on itself like a house of cards. It's purpose that's led her here, into the belly of beast, battling her way through the Tower of Fear in order to claim justice for her mother.

Now it's all gone, done and dusted without her say so. She's clueless.

So it's actually a relief in a way, when the dead man stirs. A relief that scares the shit out of her and has her fumbling to raise her gun (that kind of clumsy would get her killed if there were any demons lurking around), but relief nonetheless. Hate rises inside her like smoke, black and cloying. This is familiar. This is good. She knows what to do with this.

"Where am I?" Arkham says. His voice is weak, mismatched eyes gazing vacantly at the ceiling. "It's dark. I can't see anything."

"You're still alive I see." Her voice is steady, but her hands are shaking. If he were up and around, she'd never get a shot in. She fights to steady herself.

Her father's head lolls towards her. "Mary?...Is that you?" He sounds lost. Frightened even. "What's happening? Where's your mother?"

She immediately cocks the hammer. "My mother?" she repeats, disgust lacing her voice. Her teeth bare in a snarl. "You _killed_ her _,_ remember?" She's too angry to even protest the use of her name. (As long as he lives, it's not possible for Mary to rest in peace.)

He looks away from her, like he's thinking about it. "Yes," he agrees. "That's right. I killed her. With my own hands."

Her finger tightens on the trigger and she's _so ready_ to pump his face full of lead when he says something that tips her entire world off its axis. "What horrible thing have I done?" Arkham laments. "I was too weak...I succumbed to his influence!"

She stares. _What._ "You mean...you were possessed?" This makes no sense. Her father is a monster. She'll never forget walking into that room and finding him presiding over a slaughter, bodies arrayed amongst the lines of an occult seal drawn in blood. Her mother's body had been at the centre - _at his feet_. Still holding the bloody knife, he'd turned and smiled at her. Said she was home early. Asked her _how her day had been._

That and this regretful dying man...they're two and two coming together to make five. _He's lying. He has to be lying, there's no way he isn't lying_. She's carried her hate for him too far and for too long for him to have been innocent all along. But part of Mary--the part that makes her hands unsteady, the part of her that remembers her _Papa_ as he was, not the mockery he became--doubts. Part of her dares to almost hope.

For the first time in years, the screaming in her blood that demands she kill him grows quiet. It all goes quiet inside. She feels the opposite of numb - everything is too raw and sensitive for her to deal with.

Arkham spins her a tale of a devil named Vergil, and in doing so lays the blame for his wife's death at this demon's feet. He begs her to stop him and caresses her tear-soaked cheek ( _when had she begun to cry?_ ) before dying in her arms. Mary cries for the loss of both her parents, then rises like a phoenix, burning with her new sense of purpose. She will avenge her mother, and her father too when she eradicates these demons. She won't let them live. Not. Even. One.

* * *

(Later, much later, well after the events of Temen-ni-gru have passed, Lady will look back and reflect. She will look back on this moment of weakness and see that she wasn't ready to slay her demons. But as the events of that night later proved to her, there are some things you can never be ready for. Still she can't help but be bewildered and wonder:

 _Where did all my hate go?_ )

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Not quite happy with this, but I wanted to write it anyway.


End file.
